


I'll know my name, and other fights

by szzzt



Series: World hanging upside down [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 3+1 because I can't handle larger numbers, Action, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fight Scenes, Fight what plot, Gen, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, More characters to be added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Shiro's imaginary blanket, Sparring, Survivor Guilt, how to be safe when you're dangerous, magical healing fight scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szzzt/pseuds/szzzt
Summary: Three fight scenes and a bounty collection. Each chapter stands alone.Safety equipment:"Whoa whoa whoa, cadets!" Shiro said, raising his voice for the first time since they'd successfully, voluntarily formed Voltron. "What do you think you're doing?"Bad habits:Shiro attempts to model good losing behavior in a sparring demo round. Unfortunately it's a skill that wasde-incentivisedin the Arena, so he's out of practice.





	1. Safety equipment

**Author's Note:**

> me: maaan  
> me: I wanna write a pwp that is nothing but fight scenes  
> rosie: FWP
> 
> These chapters are in chronological order, but there's quite a bit of time between each of them. Each is pretty self-contained. As is traditional for X+1 stories, the last chapter is something else again and is kicking my butt… wish me luck!
> 
> A giant THANK for beta by [sciencemyfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencemyfiction/pseuds/sciencemyfiction)!

"Whoa whoa whoa, cadets!" Shiro said, raising his voice for the first time since they'd successfully, voluntarily formed Voltron. "What do you think you're doing?"

Lance and Hunk winced visibly from the snap in his tone, and Lance's half-raised bayard morphed back to its inert form. Keith and Pidge stopped too, Keith blank-faced and Pidge giving Shiro a hard stare.

Shiro stared back. He might have been known as a personable, easy-going instructor back at the Garrison (before the terrifying blank of the past year, before 'Champion' and whoever he'd been, before the new, constant undercurrent of dread at finding out), but there were a few things he was never going to budge on. "Keith," he said, in the voice of doom.

"We were about to spar," Keith said.

"Without?"

"…Without…safety equipment," Keith said, like it was being pulled from him by wild horses. His eyes flicked around, but to give him due credit he didn't try to shift the blame.

"Ohhhh," Pidge said, collapsing down to sit cross-legged on the ground. "Cool. Carry on."

"Lance, Hunk, Pidge," Shiro rapped out. "You've had unarmed combat classes. Keith, you've had weapons class. I _never_ want to catch you in here, going against the bot _or especially_ against each other, without the minimum safety equipment — which for now is armor, mouthguards, _helmets_ , and _constant awareness of the fact that your weapons are deadly._ Do I make myself clear?"

Hunk looked apprehensive, but not like the lesson had truly sunk in. Lance was making the _But—_ face. Better nip that in the bud.

"Lance, you have younger sibs, don't you?" Shiro asked, and got a nod before cutting off the rest of what Lance was going to say. "Hunk, you have nieces and nephews?"

"And cousins," Hunk said.

"Good," Shiro said implacably. "What would you do if you came home to find them playing with real guns?"

Lance and Hunk looked at each other and paled. "But—" Lance said.

"Your bayards are magic alien mind readers, not real guns? Cadets, _it doesn't matter what they are._ It matters what they _do._ If your bayards can make a hole in a sentry they can make a hole in two or three humans stacked together. They aren't props, and they aren't toys. You're bright, and you're quick studies, but _I saw it in a holo_ is not going to make a good apology. Or a good epitaph." Shiro let that echo in the silent room, looking hard at Pidge and Keith now.

"Pidge," he said. Pidge straightened up, showing some — slight — regret at deciding to sit through the lecture. Keith had fallen in to a creditable version of attention as soon as Shiro pulled out the officer voice.

Not that he cared whether they were standing or sitting or lying down, as long as they listened to this _at least._ "How many times have Hunk and Lance tagged a teammate, just when you were looking?"

"Um," Pidge said. "You three times, me twice, Keith four times. Allura once." Keith nodded and Lance gulped.

"Yes," Shiro agreed, not letting Lance off the hook, "and the princess noticed. You'll be apologizing to her for that later. Putting yourself at risk is not okay, but handling your bayards without respect puts your _entire team_ at risk." He looked back at Pidge. "Your mother is Colleen Holt. You know gun safety." It wasn't a question, though he watched the cadet closely; Pidge swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Come over here and drill it into these two. When you're done I want individual demonstrations from both Lance and Hunk, and I want you to show me what gun safety basics also apply to your bayard. After that we'll talk about knife safety, because _yes_ , you all have to know both. Keith. You're with me."

Keith braced unnecessarily picture-perfect, then spoiled the effect by giving him a lowkey stink-eye. "Sir?"

Shiro smiled. Keith went even more wooden. "You and I are going to put _in_ these mouthguards that Coran was so thoughtful to provide, put _on_ our helmets, and figure out exactly how much protection this paladin armor gives against your sword. Then we'll do the same against Pidge's bayard. And yes," he smiled wider, "We'll use a dummy for the hard contact, but for light to medium you'll both be testing on me."

"Sometimes I really hate you," Keith said.

"What was that?" Shiro said, delighted that Altean mouthguards could be spoken through without sounding like a mouthful of marbles. "Less talking, more testing, cadet. You can go up to at least medium contact against my arm." He positioned his right hand in a high block that would deflect the blade up over his head if it skidded off. "Let's start with the forearm, in case someone blocks with their weapon hand or doesn't invoke their shield in time. What's this part of the armor called?"

"Bracers?" Keith guessed.

"Sure, sounds weird but okay," Shiro grinned. "Don't those go on teeth?"

"Oh, shut up," Keith groaned.

"Hey, I didn't come up with your crazy medieval English armor words." Shiro wiggled his hand. "Come at me, Tex. Ten on just my right arm to start, then we'll inspect the armor for damage. Your speed, light to medium contact, I'll count. Focus on speed and control. Show me what you've got now."

"Well, I sure didn't train on swords for a year." Keith invoked his bayard and held it out, measuring Shiro's stance and the distance between them, then took two steps back. "I'm going on knife skills, so heads up."

Shiro nodded at the warning. "Ready?"

"Ready." Keith stepped into the strike, no hesitation, and Shiro flowed into the block.

"One!"


	2. Bad habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro attempts to model good losing behavior in a sparring demo round. Unfortunately it's a skill that was _de-incentivised_ in the Arena, so he's out of practice.

"You can't depend on always having it, though, can you?" Pidge pointed out. "You're always telling us not to get too reliant on the same tactics."

Hunk nodded quickly, raising his head just enough to be visible. "It's a machine. Machines break," he gasped, and flopped back to prone on the floor. "Oooh, that last thirty seconds killed me. I'm dead."

"You did good," Shiro said. " _Especially_ by not letting Pidge line you up in front of the other attackers too many times, and turning it against her that last time."

Hunk gave a limp thumbs-up from the floor.

"I want to see it," Lance said. As a more nimble 'attacker' than Hunk, he'd done better at keeping his distance and wasn't quite as battered, though he'd needed to cover more ground. He was red in the face, but not sweaty-pale like Pidge and Hunk; they were more than done for the day. "I get why you hardly ever light up your right arm for multiples, but if you had to fight fully left-handed, a lot more of what you do would be applicable to us, right?"

Shiro grimaced. "No use of my right arm at all, huh?" Well, he'd put them all through more than one round of two-on-one and three-on-one multiples sparring today. They were entitled to a pound of flesh. "Keith, you up for it?"

Keith finished off his water pouch and pulled himself up. "I'm game."

"Wait, why does Shiro only get one opponent?" Lance cried.

"You'll see," Shiro said. He put in his mouthguard and settled on his sweaty helmet, the pads cool and clammy against his damp hair, then tucked his right arm into the small of his back and jammed his fingers under his belt as a reminder. Having it behind him would throw off his balance, but he'd still instinctively use it if it was just at his side. Besides, if the Galra arm did get disabled, it might well freeze in some awkward position.

And anyway. He'd fought with his arms behind him before. The experience ought to count for something.

Keith wrestled his own helmet back on, then pulled his bayard and morphed it into his sword, tip up in high ready position.

"Five minutes," Shiro said; it was considerably longer than the two-minute multiples rounds, but it would do Keith good to get just as tired as the rest of his team. "Medium-hard contact. Onlookers keep count of the time and the touches." That got Hunk to sit up again.

"Any target off limits?" Shiro asked Keith.

"Nope. You?"

Shiro shook his head. He'd taken hits in the earlier rounds, but nothing so hard that he could still feel it now. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Go," Shiro said, and invoked the hardlight shield in his left forearm while pivoting behind and to the left, blocking and redirecting Keith's thrust with the edge of the shield.

Keith twisted his wrist and flicked under the shield, impossibly fast; Shiro felt the thump on his breastplate before he caught the blade again, this time trapping the flat of it between the shield and his forearm armor. He had to close the distance; he spun on his left leg, taking the risk of giving Keith his back to keep the sword trapped, and scythed his right heel out in a crescent kick. His legs were longer than Keith's. Keith was in range for this, and from a lunge he couldn't easily block or evade.

Pretty strategy, nice attempt. Keith didn't try to disengage to escape the kick; instead he shifted his weight forward and elbowed Shiro in the back of the neck with his weapon arm, vanishing his sword to free it almost as an afterthought. Shiro huffed and took the fall forward, seeing sparks. The heel of his kick just scraped Keith's ribs, and damn, this was the part where he'd usually use his right arm to roll. Also, it would really hurt to roll along his back with the metal prosthetic trapped between his back and the floor.

Nothing for it. Instead of rolling, Shiro pushed off hard with his standing leg and flipped in midair; thankfully he had enough height, and he was already turtled up. He landed crouched and clumsy, hitting one heel hard, and twisted to get his shield up against a snap kick to the face. It knocked him over, but not with enough force to roll back up to his feet.

Shiro twisted and came to guard on the floor, weight on his hip and braced with his immobile right elbow, left arm and left leg up, ready to kick.

Keith paused. "Groundfighting?" he panted. "Shiro I don't want to pretend to cut your legs off."

"My bootsoles can take — at least a couple strikes," Shiro said. His voice was calm but he could tell he was grinning between breaths, the same barely-there grin as when he fought Sendak. He wondered if the Champion had ever made this face. "As long as I catch your blade on the sole."

"Is this how it's supposed to go?" Hunk whispered from the side. "Shiro's _losing_. Right?"

"Shhhh!" Pidge said. Shiro grinned and didn't look over. The fastest way to get up from this position would require his right arm, so that was out; the second fastest way was to roll over backward, but Keith would skewer him. If he couldn't neutralize the mobility advantage or the range advantage, the match was essentially over.

He waited, poised. Keith might make a mistake. Or Shiro might surprise him. The Garrison classes were too practical to mix weapons and groundfighting; you had to go to high-level judo or iaido to see any disarms from the ground. Even there, they were more of a thought-exercise, the fruit of some long-ago grandmaster playing around with their friends to come up with a sequence that was _theoretically_ possible.

Keith half-heartedly tried to circle around Shiro's legs to get in reach of his upper body; Shiro swiveled on his hip, keeping his legs pointed at Keith and feinting snap kicks at ankle and knee and once, daringly, at the flat of Keith's blade. Keith backed off, mouth stiffened in distaste.

He'd work himself up to finishing Shiro off, but why make it that easy? Shiro rolled to his other hip, bringing his disabled right side uppermost and trapping his shield against the floor where he propped himself on his left arm. "I'm so defenseless," he said. "Come and get me."

It _felt_ defenseless. At the small of his back, his belt creaked where the prosthetic's fingers were wrapped around it.

Rightly smelling a rat, Keith didn't take the bait right away. When he finally did, his pursed mouth telegraphed it. _The things I do for you,_ his expression said.

Shiro drew back his top leg, cocking it in chamber and making Keith hesitate again, Keith's right leg temporarily in front as he led with his shield and held his sword left-handed in reserve.

_There!_ Shiro pistoned his leg out and up, far short of connecting with Keith but enough to let him get his left hand under his hip and toss his whole body forward on one arm. One foot hooked in front of Keith's ankle and the other heel slipped behind Keith's knee, and Shiro flipped his left side uppermost again, the twist traveling through his hips and legs to buckle Keith's leg and drive him down forward into the ground.

"Whoa!" Lance yelled, and there was a moment of excited babble from the onlookers. "Did you see that!"  
"—on his _left_ hand!"  
"Jeez Shiro!"

Keith took the breakfall with an _oof_ , unable to roll with his leg trapped, but as soon as he was down he twisted like an eel to free his leg and bring his bayard in a backhanded swing over the axis of his body and into Shiro. Target hardly mattered with all of Shiro's legs and lower torso in range.

But his turn gave Shiro his back for a second. Shiro thrust-kicked him with both feet, tucked hard, and used the momentum of kicking off Keith to roll backwards up to standing. Something scraped down the inside of his leg in the scramble, but then he was up again, and Keith was only up to one knee.

Backpedaling, Keith got to standing but didn't get the tip of his bayard around in time, and the spear-tip of Shiro's left hand gently touched the hollow of his throat. Keith froze, his blade poised to slash along Shiro's unguarded right side. Shiro ignored it with the serenity of someone with a straight shot to the brain, the airway, the spine, and the brain's blood vessels. Even if some of those were harder targets with his left hand.

"Yikes," Hunk whispered. Shiro flicked a glance over. Pidge's mouth was open, and all three had eyes as round as bowls.

Keith raised his chin with every ounce of his offended-cat dignity, opened his arms wide, vanished his blade, and collapsed down to sit on the floor with his hands braced behind him. He was breathing just as hard as Hunk a few minutes ago.

Shiro took a step back, wrenched off his helmet, and followed him down to sit cross-legged. He rubbed the inside of his thigh ruefully. Right along the femoral artery. "I think," he panted, "this would have dropped me before I could follow through with that spearhand throat strike. Good job, Keith."

"Grghhhh." Keith tipped his head back inarticulately. "You… are literally… the worst at acknowledging. I got you three times. You bled out. You're dead."

Shiro spat out his mouthguard and let himself flop back flat on the ground. "I know, I have some bad habits. But sentries don't acknowledge hits at all."

"It's still annoying!" Keith groaned.

"Just hit me harder," Shiro offered. "I'll be glad the day one of you lays me out for real."

Hunk pursed his lips and broke the pause before it could get awkward. "Well, first of all that was amazing. Second, yeah, sorry Shiro, I counted two hits early on so you were probably too injured to pull off that amazing move and you're definitely dead now."

Shiro had only noticed one, but it _had_ been to the chest. He nodded without protest.

Keith set down his helmet and finger-combed the sweaty bangs off his face. "Would you tell us to lay each other out for real?" he asked.

Shiro picked up his head to stare. "Of course not. You could get seriously hurt."

Hunk and Keith traded a look. Lance slurped his water obnoxiously, giving Shiro a thousand-yard sniper stare.

"I don't even want to think what it would take to make a gladiator acknowledge," Pidge said thoughtfully. She was invoking and dismissing her bayard with her arm in different block positions, clearly imagining how she might steal Keith's move to best effect. "Probably best if we just make a point to ask after the bout, what was effective against Shiro and what wasn't."

"What?" Keith said.

Pidge looked up. "In the arena, it'd be dangerous to show what hits are more effective than others, wouldn't it? So either you'd dummy up for everything, or do your best not to dummy up at all. Second strategy's more versatile, 'cause then if you _do_ dummy up, it means you're really hurt. And you could use that to lure them in." She twisted around to look at Shiro like the rest of them were doing. "Right?"

Shiro grimaced at the ceiling, weighing whether he could plausibly bluff out from under this one.

But he'd just finished a fight. He wanted a rest. Left long enough, the silence did the job anyway.

"And you explain that as a _bad habit_ ?" Keith demanded.

"Not acknowledging _is_ a bad habit," Shiro sighed, "if your goal is to spar."

Hunk stiffened in denial, but his voice was dismayed. "What, so it's not a bad habit if your goal is —"

"—to fuck shit up?" Pidge said deadpan, at the same time Keith said neutrally "To kill?" They glanced at each other and found, apparently, agreement, turning expectantly back.

Lance's lip parted and then closed again, frown forming and deepening. "We're not sparring when we're out on missions," he pointed out. "I know you've noticed that the Galra aren't sparring. It's not great, it's not ideal, but we have to kill too. We've all done it. It _isn't only you, Shiro._ "

"Maybe it _should only be me,_ " Shiro said, much louder than he intended. Somehow those words had jerked him back up to sitting. He glared, and breathed, and intentionally modulated his tone back down. "Killing isn't something to seek out. It isn't something to assume, and it should never be the first solution. It causes cumulative psychological damage in humans, you know that. And for paladins of Voltron, it's not the most effective long-term strategy. We have to be gathering allies in everything we do. _Everything._ We can't afford to kill anyone who could be an ally or gain us an ally later. That means we _can't_ all be on a hair-trigger and it means I _don't_ have to train the same reflexes into you that I got by surviving the arena."

Shiro widened his glare to include them all — Pidge and Keith grim, Lance and Hunk with their mouths open but shocked quiet — and shook his head. "It wouldn't be training anyway, it would just be abuse." He was shaking, little trembles up his arms and in his core.

"That isn't what we're asking for—" Lance began.

"Then what are you asking for," Shiro overrode him, voice flat.

"We're asking for you to take the same care with yourself that you do with us!" Lance yelled. "Or as close as you can! No more double standard! Because I don't know about you guys but I cannot fucking take it!" He stood up and threw his helmet down, smacking against the mat he'd been sitting on, and strode out, almost running by the time he hit the door.

Shiro's jaw dropped. He started to get up — someone needed to go after —

" _Sit,_ " Hunk said. Shiro sat, attention forcibly redirected.

"Keith, Pidge, go after him," Hunk said, not taking his eyes off Shiro. "I'll take care of stuff here."

"Got it." Pidge scrambled out, Keith looking back and forth before tagging after her with last-second determination.

Shiro watched Hunk. His lips were tingling; his hands and feet were far away. The tremors were back, rattling through him a little worse since he felt like he'd been dunked in icewater.

"Shiro, look at me."

Shiro refocused. He hadn't been? Hunk was on his feet and squatting several meters away, looking worried. "Your color's not good," he muttered. "I want you to move over to the mats. Come sit by me. That okay?"

Shiro nodded and levered himself up, taking it in easy stages. He was shaky, the clammy undersuit freezing as drying sweat sucked the heat out of his skin. He sat heavily next to Hunk, on the other side from Lance's abandoned helmet, and braced against the wall with his Galra arm. Hunk passed him a water pouch, the straw already inserted, and Shiro was grateful he didn't have to manage a cup with his left hand shaking like it was.

"I'm gonna take off my upper body armor, and then yours," Hunk said. "Here, put your arm over my shoulder, yeah, it's easier to reach the catches that way."

Shiro blinked. The water pouch was empty, and under his right arm the line of Hunk's back was warm, warm, warm; slightly wheezy breathing and hard strong pulse and the distant rumbling of his stomach under Shiro's palm. He must have lost some time. The back and breastplate of Shiro's armor popped loose and lifted away and he shivered convulsively, tucking his head.

"Hey," Hunk said. "I'm cold. Can I share your blanket?"

Shiro nodded and pulled it out without opening his eyes, dropping it over their shoulders. Hunk patted around for the edges and adjusted it a little, but Shiro didn't bother. He could feel the warmth reflecting to the other sides of his arm, and spreading down his own back from where Hunk's arm was folded around him. Hunk was solid and warm and alive, more than steady enough to lean into.

Hunk patted Shiro's shoulders and rubbed his back and combed fingers through his hair, talking softly, probably enjoying the chance to touch, and Shiro let him. Under the blanket the shivers slowly subsided to a persistent buzzing, like the inside of his skin was scraped raw.

"How are you feeling?" Hunk said quietly. "Still cold?"

"Better." Shiro lifted his head. "I need to eat."

Hunk nodded. "You can probably keep it down now. Here." He fished out a box from his gear and cracked it: small fruit and seedpods from Olkari, already washed and dehusked. They traded bites for a few minutes, Shiro grateful again for the finger food. His arms and back had fatigue trembles, but he could feel his head clearing as the warmth finally reached his center.

Hunk cleared his throat. "Fighting with a handicap like that brought some stuff up, huh?"

"Probably. Nothing specific. I just feel more tired than I should."

Hunk rubbed Shiro's back with the arm still loosely hugging him. "You were shocky for a while there. Probably not just because Lance yelled at you."

Shiro sighed. "He surprised me." An inadequate way of describing the sudden-drop _oh shit_ feeling of the deck yanked out from under his feet.

"He wasn't wrong," Hunk said, gentle but implacable. "Lance is kind of like the canary in the coal mine, or the — the pressure valve on a boiler. He'll let you know when there's a problem, so the whole group can adjust course, and he'll do it first. But he's not the only one feeling it, just the first one to say it."

Shiro turned his face away and nodded. The motion was unexpectedly hard, like he was a marionette controlling his own strings, and some of the strings were still stuck together.

Hunk made a _hrrmg_ sound in his throat and tried again. "You're doing a _good job,_ Shiro. You're taking good care of us. But we want you to move your values for yourself up to where they match your values for us."

Shiro laughed, a nearly silent breath. "Matt. Matt told me the same thing, but I c—, I c—"

"You don't think you're worth it?" Hunk said neutrally, his whole face focused. Troubleshooting mode.

Shiro looked away again. His chest hitched. He'd drive himself into hiccups, trying to get more air. "I know— my assumptions, the way they're set, it's not good. I _know_. But just knowing doesn't…"

"It's all tied up together," Hunk said thoughtfully. "Keith says you were self-sacrificing before, but not this much."

"I had to be ready to die," Shiro said. "That was my only value. My only way of winning. I knew _exactly_ what I was worth."

"You knew it better than anyone else," Hunk agreed. "You're here. You're alive."

"I thought I was dead more than once. I don't remember all the times, but I dream about them. Giving up," Shiro said, and wished he could burn the wistful tone right out of his voice, but he couldn't.

Hunk hissed in through his teeth. "Fighting with a handicap would bring that up, all right. Shiro, we really have to find a way to get you some better sleep. I'll build you a bunk in Black if you want. I'll talk Pidge into making you a personal cloak."

"No thanks on a cloak. I like knowing you guys can find me if you need to."

Hunk smiled. "You have some weird ideas about what places are accessible. Or a lot of faith, not that I'm objecting." He'd pulled Lance's helmet into his lap, trying to balance it upside down on his knee.

Shiro watched with slitted eyes, too tired to move. If Hunk knew, they all knew, but… "None of you have asked why I don't sleep in my room."

"Well, the places you go that we know of are either hidden, or have several exits, or both. So it makes sense." Hunk felt his surprise, maybe, and kept his tone light. "We've talked about it some with each other. No one's gonna stop you. But if we ever need you and can't find you and can't wait, we'll ask Coran."

Shiro ducked his head. He couldn't apologize, but he could at least acknowledge. "That's fine. I know I should be available."

"Shiro. Shiro, sleep is more important than being available. If you don't sleep, you can't _be_ available, because you won't be _functional_. Does it help?"

"Yes," Shiro admitted. The inaccessible places helped, and keeping it random helped, and even nodding off dead center in the brightly-lit lounge with rambunctious arguing nearby helped. "I'd sleep in the lounge every time if I could. Can't always, though."

Hunk grinned. "You like having us around?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I wasn't alone most of the time. When I was a prisoner." Had he really just said that? Shit. He could feel himself tensing, the dread sinking back into his stomach.

But Hunk didn't press; he just breathed out and said, "I'm glad you weren't alone." Shiro turned his head and held on harder, hiding his face in his own shoulder. His exhales were shaky, and his chest hurt, and he didn't really know why. That was one of the worst parts.

Sometimes he suspected, though, and it twisted in his chest like a knife. That was worse. It was amazing how his standards kept changing.

"You know you're worth more than the Galra thought you were, right?" Hunk murmured. "More than your ability to survive the _stupid_ situation they put you in." He was intent again, an engineer applying the exact right amount of force to take a malfunctioning thing apart. His focus thrummed and knocked in Shiro's sore chest with the resonance of their bonds, down where the messy minds and clean power of Voltron hooked in behind his ribs. The distant landslide of Yellow nudged Black and Black nudged Shiro, like being gently shoved several steps sideways by a building and…pinned against another building.

Shiro's mind creaked. He acknowledged — _yes, thank you, I know_ — that Hunk was perfectly sincere, telling the unadorned truth as he understood it, and Black and Yellow withdrew with satisfied huffs that blew Shiro's own essence wildly around for a moment, like a candleflame in a draft.

"Uhff," Shiro groaned, "two at once." He was glad he was already sitting down.

"Sorry, sorry," Hunk laughed. "I didn't mean for them to squish you. You're okay?"

"I'll survive. They're careful, they're just so big."

"Good," Hunk said. "I mean it though, Shiro. The Galra didn't know what they had with you. That's the biggest mistake they've made so far. If I was Haggar and I was brave enough to acknowledge how bad I messed up, I'd be so mad I could just spit. I'd be spinning in my grave."

Shiro swallowed. He didn't want to think about that. "…pretty sure she's still alive…" he mumbled lamely.

"The point is, you're worth more than _you_ thought you were, even, when you were in that situation, having to decide what you would and wouldn't do. Maybe you wanted to give up, but when it was make or break time, you never did. If you had," Hunk said simply, "you wouldn't be here."

Shiro shook his head, the motion hard to stop. "I survived by luck," he said. "I'm not worth more than the people I killed."

Hunk held Shiro a little tighter, the line of his mouth going grim and tight in the edge of Shiro's vision. He didn't protest, didn't lie and say _yes you are,_ or tell the truth and say _to us you are._

"I can't tell myself I deserved to live through that," Shiro whispered, trying to explain. "Not when…there were so many people who just wanted to live, but they didn't. I'm not better. I didn't want it more. They had just as much right—"

" _No one_ deserved to die that way. Not them, not you." Hunk's lip twisted and his anger burned like a coal under Shiro's ribs, the subsonic rumble of Yellow's growl shaking his bones. "Hey, Shiro, hey. The Galra undervalued _all_ of you. The Galra had the power. You aren't responsible for the situation they put you in."

"I'm responsible for my actions," Shiro argued.

"The Galra restricted what your actions could be."

_Oh._

The fight drained out of him and all that was left was the heaviness of his body, because it was true.

_I'm responsible for my actions. I'm not responsible for the fact that terrible actions were the only ones I could take._ He was still sure, despite everything, that if death had ever been the best of his bad choices, he'd have chosen it with both hands and no regrets.

Maybe he had. Maybe Haggar hadn't really left him that choice either.

_I'm not walking back into her power now. I don't have to make her crap choices anymore._ He could choose from all his staggering options the very best, the good ends, his favorites.

He took a big breath and let it out slowly, shifting Hunk against him. "I'm so tired," he admitted.

Hunk set his lips to Shiro's forehead and whispered back like sharing a secret, or a concession. "You can give up for a _little_ while. When you need to. We'll keep watch."

Shiro shook his head wistfully.

"Just think about it," Hunk said. "I know you don't think you can right now. But when you really need to. Just say, 'Hunk, I need downtime,' and we'll know what you mean, and we'll get the castle somewhere safe and we'll give you the time. We want to do what we can for you."

He'd kept shaking his head slowly all through the explanation. "Not right now."

"Someday," Hunk persisted. "Just think about it."

Shiro sighed, losing the energy to keep pushing back. Exhaustion was coming down like a lead curtain, making his body heavier and heavier. He laid his head back on Hunk's shoulder to rest his neck.

"Let's not sleep here," Hunk said faraway. "Think you can sleep in the lounge?"

Shiro nodded. He could probably sleep on the deck in the middle of the docking bay right now. He felt Hunk getting a shoulder under his and the momentary disorientation as he was hoisted up. The floor pressed on his feet and he walked, but he didn't remember anything after palming the sensor to go out the training room door.

Shiro woke in the lounge, laying full length on the sunken couch with a blanket over him, his own pillow under his head, and another person nestled up close, their back to his chest. The lisping snore, the hint of cucumber… Lance.

He draped an arm over Lance, and went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for the sifu who told us all what to do if you notice you're Having An Emotion while sparring: bow out, tell your partner, tell the teacher, and go sit somewhere they can check on you in a few minutes.
> 
> I swear she pronounced it with the capital letters, so I will never forget.


End file.
